


Human Wreckage that You Love

by Anonymous



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Breathplay, Car Sex, Knifeplay, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Ownership, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:46:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is crazy but that doesn't at all explain why the hell he's done this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Wreckage that You Love

**Author's Note:**

> additional warnings for mentions of cannibalism, serial killers, and panic attacks.
> 
> disclaimer: for the love of god, if someone bites you so hard they draw blood, get it checked out by a fucking doctor. and don't use this as a guide for knifeplay or breathplay, christ.

Will is crazy but that doesn't at all explain why the hell he's done this.

He remembers, vaguely, Hannibal, with a bloody knife and bloodier hands and a real human heart sitting on his kitchen counter like that's a normal thing. (And then, he figured out, it kind of was.) Even more vaguely, he remembers Hannibal moving toward him with that knife and his own voice blurting out that the FBI were coming.

Then they ended up here. Another skip in time, but he's the kind of calm that only comes after a panic attack. His mouth tastes faintly of vomit. For once, the signs of what happened during his missing time are obvious to read.

"Will?" Hannibal asks, and Will realizes that there are arms wrapped around his stomach and legs bracketing his hips from behind. "Will, I need you to speak to me."

"I don't know what to say," Will says after a delicate pause.

"Perhaps you could explain to me what you're thinking when choosing to run away with me," Hannibal says, voice light in the way he uses when he's asking a loaded question. Will's mouth twists of its own accord as he stretches his legs, touching the tips of his boots against the gravel under him.

They're sitting on the side of a road in the middle of no where under moonlight filtered through a thin layer of clouds. It's the perfect place to get murdered, if there ever was such a spot. The fields around them aren't anything more than weeds and grass—it could probably only be better with a cornfield. But Will isn't here to get murdered, no matter how amiable the setting is to that scene.

"I believe we are running away together," he says finally. "To a nice house in the countryside where you can cook me nice meals and show off your own little empath to all of your other nice cannibal friends."

Hannibal chuckles. He leans into Will, forehead against the soft spot at the base of his skull and nose against the vertebrae. "Do you imagine I have a network of people like me, Will?"

Will pretends to consider for a moment, though they both know this conversation is facetious. "No. The Chesapeake Ripper, for all he might long for—for human contact, for a friend, has been alone in his games."

"And," Hannibal says delicately, scraping his teeth carefully over the knob of Will's neck, "is he still alone?"

With a shiver that passes down his spine, Will shakes his head, once to each side. "I believe he has indeed finally found a friend. But what that means for—"

"Will," Hannibal interrupts, and suddenly Will is the one braced against the hood of the car, Hannibal looming in front of him. An inappropriate voice sitting in the back of Will's head whispers, _Rude_ , but he stoically ignores it. Hannibal's eyes glint in the half moonlight, his expression severe and hungry. "My own little empath, you referred to yourself as. I believe you should expand upon that."

Gulping a breath of air, Will says, "I did say that, didn't I?"

"Yes. And did you mean it?"

"I did."

Hannibal studies him for a moment. He is as cold and calculating now with Will's thighs spread for him to stand between as he is behind his desk psychoanalyzing patients. Hannibal's hands go to Will's shoulders and push him down. Will goes easily, falling back against the hood of the car as Hannibal steps even closer, shoving Will's legs wider to make room for him.

"I am a murderer," Hannibal says. His eye sockets are black in the shadow. "I kill people for my pleasure, for attention, for food. Why do you say that?"

"Because you're not the only one who's a monster, you know that?" Will says, trying to make it come out in an even, easy tone, but he sounds more wrecked than anything. "I don't—I don't have _nightmares_ about murder. You know that. You know all of it, that's why we're here, that's why you didn't kill me, that's why you told me to give Georgia a comb to brush her hair." His voice is bordering on hysterical, and he takes a deep breath to go on, the words building up inside his chest and threatening to spill over. Because he's put the pieces together and he understands the puzzle now and he wants to shout it all out because he _understands_ and—

A hand wraps around his throat, possessive and confident and forcing the words to all die inside Will's chest as the breath is crushed out of him. Hannibal's face is directly above his own and when Will opens his mouth to say something, the hand squeezes, keeping him silent.

"Will Graham," he breathes. The clouds have shifted from the moon and Hannibal's face is starkly, brightly silver around the edges, face almost completely shadowed in black.

Hannibal kisses like he is claiming Will, as if he can press his lips so hard to Will's that he'll be left with a mark of ownership that everyone will see, instead of just something for Will to know. His hands are rough and greedy, nearly ripping Will's shirt to pieces in his attempts to get it off. It gets thrown somewhere, possibly into the road, and Will gasps at the feeling of metal on his back.

But Hannibal licks the noise out of his mouth, taking it for himself because he wants it. Will can see it, feel it—knows all the ways that Hannibal wants what he can't have, only now he has it. He has it in the shoulder between his teeth as he bites down viciously, blunt teeth digging into Will's skin and making him scream.

It isn't the good kind of pain, not at all, but it's what he needs. It hurts and that's good, even when Hannibal returns to his mouth with a fierce kiss and Will realizes that he's kissing away the taste of his own blood in Hannibal's mouth. He digs his nails into Hannibal's shoulders and drags them down, drawing a growl out of Hannibal.  Hannibal bites his lip in punishment and Will whimpers, unhooking his nails from Hannibal.

Suddenly, the hand is back at his throat, pushing Will's head back down with a thud against the car. "Fuck," he hisses, "you can't—"

" _Silence_. You are mine," Hannibal snarls. He is uncontrolled and feral in that moment, nothing like the calm man who usually greets Will. No, this is Will finally meeting the real Hannibal, the rage simmering quietly beneath the facade that Will has been unknowingly searching for all this time, and it leaves him feeling more alive than he has in months. Will laughs out loud hysterically, cutting Hannibal off in the middle of a sentence about something, what the fuck ever, and then there's a knife at his throat.

Will snaps to silence, panting and trying to ignore how hard he is in his jeans.

"I said," Hannibal says levelly, voice a hair away from slipping back to that unrestrained growl, " _quiet_. You are _mine_ and I will do whatever I want to you."

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Will says, heedless of the fact that his nodding means that he's moving the knife. "Please—I can beg, right?—please, fuck, I need—"

"Shush," Hannibal says, flicking his eyes back to Will's face for a moment.

The slide of the knife into his chest isn't so much shockingly scary as it is shockingly fast. It isn't deep, Will can feel that much, but there is blood drawn immediately. Hannibal smears his hand through the mess, fingers catching on the edge of the cut with purpose to make Will groan with pain. He throws his head back and squeezes his eyes shut against the rolling pain that's slowly growing in intensity as his body begins to understand what has happened to it.

Hannibal licks up the cut as he tosses the knife aside, probably smearing his face with blood as Will squirms underneath him, uncertain if he wants to be closer or further away.

Then a wet hand grabs Will's chin at the same time Hannibal rolls his hips against Will's, the pleasure so sudden in contrast to the pain that Will yells out. He would toss his head back, but Hannibal's grip on his jaw is strong and commanding.

Blood is spread across Hannibal's face, blood and detached interest as he stares down at Will. It isn't erotic, but it's not as horrifying as it logically should be.

Will reaches up a hand and touches Hannibal's jaw in a parody of how he's being touched, and Will swipes a thumb at the corner of Hannibal's mouth. He feels his face twist into a crazed smile as he says, "You have something on your face."

Hannibal raises an eyebrow at him but Will can't stop the amused snort that comes out, too proud of his joke to care much what it makes him look like. Instability is a good cover for insanity.

After that, there's no more real conversation. Hannibal is, unsurprisingly, quick with his hands, fast to undo Will's jeans and shove them down, and them somehow, suddenly, Will's dick is out in the cool air. He gasps, surprised—Hannibal's hands are _calloused_ , of all things, rough ridges on the pads of his fingers, and Will doesn't know why or how he never noticed this before. It seems like one of those impossible things, a man like Hannibal having the hands of a common man.

It's not uncomfortable to stare straight into Hannibal's eyes like this, with a hand moving on his dick and the fingers on one hand scrabbling uselessly at the car beneath him. Will is helpless in the moment, even as Hannibal's palm falls from his face to his neck, not squeezing or pressing down—just letting the weight of it rest there.

The design is not to let Will slip away into his own head, but he doesn't think there's a chance of that happening. He manages to immediately prove himself wrong.

Everything slows down as Will realizes how close he is to coming in this silence, Hannibal's gaze locked on him. He's swiftly aware of the fact that this is his final chance—Hannibal will never let him go after this, never let him survive.

(Not that there's a high chance of that anyway.)

It's like standing at the very edge of a crumbling cliff where a too-loud noise could send him hurtling downward and Will is unsure of if he wants to step back or not to save himself.

Just then, Hannibal's head tilts ever so slightly to the side. His eyes glint like he knows Will has just disappeared into his mind and then the pressure on his throat increases. At first it's diminutive, the barest force, but it grows until the hitches in his breath can no longer come because there's no air passing through his throat.

It's now or never to fight him off, but Will truly has no desire to turn his back now.

He comes, body shuddering from his shoulders to his feet, and the face Hannibal makes is so slick with blood and satisfaction that Will could bite the smirk from his face.

**Author's Note:**

> for an anonymous prompt on tumblr: Run - Daughter, Hannibal/Will: Hannibal is found out by Will, via eye-contact or otherwise, and Hannibal goes to gut him when Will says they should run. They should go, and never look back. And when they do, the weight of it comes back to Will and he freaks out, vomits, seizes, what have you, and Hannibal holds him through it. He can't take it back, but he loves him, so. Let's be monsters together? And have sex on the hood of your car?
> 
> inspired by "run" by daughter, but title taken from "blood" by my chemical romance because it was too perfect not to
> 
> [find me on tumblr!](http://abaddonless.tumblr.com)


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